


A Painful Exchange

by TramGirl



Series: March (Mini-Fic) Madness [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Council, Drabble, Gen, Paperwork, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short, Telepathic Bond, impending doom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-29 21:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10144553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TramGirl/pseuds/TramGirl
Summary: Set in the more immediate aftermath of Sudden Flame. Findarato is back in his beloved kingdom but troubled by the very gift of insight that let him down so recently. Said gift is currently dishing out more anxiety than useful information. Edrahil wants to help. Written (and completed but not uploaded!) for the March (minific) Madness challenge, suggested by MK who wanted a council scene.





	

“On to the next item of business, then,” Findarato said briskly, turning to the next paper in front of him. “Funding for an orrery.”

A disbelieving pause.

After a moment, he spoke. “How did _this_ get as far as council level?” he asked, voice level, but with a heavy emphasis on the ‘this’ that went with a surge of anger that, of all the council members, probably only Edrahil actually detected.

Towards the bottom half of the council table, Guilin’s son, Gwindor stood. “My lord, if I may speak?”

“I think you’d better,” Findarato said, a trifle acerbically.

It was to the child’s credit that he didn’t visibly wince at the tone, Edrahil thought. 

“My lord, following Sudden Flame, the ability to predict a future attack is more important than ever. As a result, certain parties believe that by constructing-“

“Not you.”

He wasn’t just angry, he was in pain, Edrahil realized, at the somewhat uncharacteristic interruption. Common courtesy would have let Gwindor state his whole case before commenting on it.

This abrupt statement did appear to rattle Gwindor a little. “Er. No, my lord. I have my doubts that constructing an orrery will do anything but give us an orrery, it’s not as though we don’t have astronomers already but-”

“Guilinion. I repeat my original question: ‘How did this get as far as council level?’”

“My lord, your lord cousin’s son-“

“Is not here right now,” Findarato pointed out, again in that dangerously level voice, but it did not last. “If he wants an orrery so badly, he can show up to argue for it, build it and finance it himself. I’m certainly not about to divert critical resources and personnel to a vanity project when we’re still not certain how we’re going to resupply Minas Tirith! Is that understood?” His speech quickened and his volume increased sharply throughout.

This wasn’t good, Edrahil thought. It was atypical enough that everyone had taken note. No matter how correct Findarato had been in his assessment of their spending priorities, Edrahil didn’t doubt that the version his lord’s cousins would hear from sources other than Gwindor- the child might be easily led but he wasn’t disloyal- would be of great interest to them. After all, they were his near kinsmen, Orodreth was away on a difficult assignment and Finduilas was a nice girl but certainly not quite able to stand up to those two individuals if they were Ice-bent on regime change.

“Yes, my lord,” Gwindor said quickly and resumed his seat.

Anger and pain, still there, still so present that it was starting to give Edrahil a headache. The others didn’t feel or notice it, but they were uneasy all the same. They took their cues from their lord, whether they realized it or not. Edrahil had to do something.

“My lord, the next order of business concerns the resupply of Minas Tirith,” he began, speaking calmly and nonchalantly, as though there was nothing wrong. “I’m afraid I must ask you for your forbearance, there are a few figures which I still have outstanding. Perhaps we might adjourn briefly- and I should have them after the break.” He’d fit the codeword in effortlessly and if the look he was getting now was a little sharper than usual, he still got a nod of agreement.

“Very well. We’ll adjourn for the next hour.”

Adjourned, in the privacy of Findarato’s quarters, Edrahil turned his full attention on the problem at hand. “The anger, I understand. The pain- is it your wound?”

Findarato shook his head. “No- I… it still hurts a bit, but it’s not that. Something…” he took a deep, steadying breath. “ _Something_ is wrong. I don’t know what but something either has gone or is about to go wrong. And I… I-” his hands balled to fists and he glared at the stone floor as though it had done him a personal injury. And when words didn’t work properly, when he could not make himself meet his steward’s eyes, he settled for simply allowing his agitated thoughts to be perceived. 

_I don’t trust it, I can’t trust it- why even have the Sight if you can’t see something like Sudden Flame, what is this- what’s happening in the back of my mind, is there someone else there? Am I losing my grip? How can I trust-believe-how-when they let this-_

He was swaying on his feet. Edrahil acted again with more professional training than courtesy, pushing his lord to sit down in a convenient chair. “Breathe.” An order, not a request.

A glare, but a conscious effort to regulate his breathing followed the command.

Edrahil took a knee to be at eye-level with his lord. “We are here, we are safe and you are master of yourself,” he said calmly. “Whatever it is, accept that for now, it _is_. And I will do everything I can to help you.”

He still couldn’t quite bring himself to speak, instead he left his question unspoken but clear enough for Edrahil to perceive. How bad was it? How obvious had he been, how much had it showed…

“I think they think that you are angry- reasonably angry, I might add- but nothing more,” Edrahil told him. “We could cancel the afternoon session,” he suggested. Especially if something was about to happen, the steward wanted a moment to prepare for it, whatever it was. It was maddening not to know more of what it might be, but he knew how much more maddening it was to have the red-hot feeling of impending doom pressing into the back of one’s mind. He knew by proxy, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic/timeline assumes that Tol Sirion didn’t fall during the Sudden Flame but happened a while after- 6 months to two years after. And that fall (and Orodreth’s panic), even at long distance is what’s giving poor Findarato the heebie-jeebies. The orrery project is an OBSREF to Philosopher at Large’s fantastic LoL script project. Sorry for any errors, it’s late and I’m tired…


End file.
